Theater of War: Act One, Scene 2
by TOW
Summary: Continuation of "Every Man Must Play a Part" - Act One. Note - these were originally done years ago as self-published fanzines and are now posted here.
1. Chapter 1

Act One

Scene Two

– One –

Kommandant Wilhelm Klink grimaced as he read the report in front of him. Another forty prisoners were expected in camp today. Another grimace. Stalag 13 was one of the smallest prisoner of war camps in Germany. Yet there were nearly fifteen hundred men in the camp already — over two hundred more than the camp was supposed to hold. But it was like that in camps all over Germany. Ever since the Allied invasion, prisoners poured into the camps by the thousands. Klink did not like it one bit. Hogan would like it even less.

Hogan.

Klink rubbed his forearm absently and stopped. He also stopped the thought that was surfacing, the thought about the unusual rapport Hogan and he had developed in the days since his nephew's death.

No. He couldn't afford to think about that right now. Besides, when Hogan found out about the additional prisoners . . .

"Fraulein Hilda," Klink called.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," the pretty girl answered.

"Have Schultz find Colonel Hogan, bitte," Klink ordered.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

No, Hogan would not be happy at all.

Klink picked up the next report on his desk. He skimmed it, and went cold. Another prisoner would be arriving. Slowly, he put the report down. Then he stood and walked over to the window. He stared out at the harsh winter day. This he did not need. He removed the monocle from his left eye and rubbed his eyes. He was tired. Very tired.

A knock on the door.

"Come in."

"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?" Hogan asked cheerfully.

Klink knew why the American was so cheerful this morning. He had heard about the explosion at the weapons' factory last night. Well, perhaps Hogan's good mood would assuage the news about the new prisoners.

Klink turned away from the window and walked back to his desk.

Hogan watched Klink closely as he sat. Hogan noted briefly, if dismissively, how tired Klink looked.

Klink got to the point. "We are getting another forty or so prisoners today."

The smile disappeared. "You can't be serious."

"Unfortunately, I am," Klink said.

"This camp is already overcrowded," Hogan argued.

"I am well aware of that."

"And you're still going to take them?!"

Klink let the anger show. "You make it sound as if I have a choice! Since the Allied invasion, there are more prisoners than ever. All of the camps are badly overcrowded, not just this one."

"And where do you expect to put them?"

"Wherever I can. The guards are looking for space in all of the barracks. It would make things easier for everyone if you helped," Klink added pointedly.

"Yes, sir!" A sarcastic tone and a bare attempt at a salute as he turned away.

"Colonel Hogan."

Klink's voice stopped him as he reached the door.

"There is something else I need to talk to you about."

"What . . . sir?" Hogan's tone was belligerent.

An inward sigh as Klink picked up the last report he had read. For an instant, he considered giving it to the American.

"There is another prisoner coming today," Klink said slowly. "A special one."

His tone finally got through Hogan's anger. "How special?"

"He," Klink glanced at the report, "has a reputation as a troublemaker."

Hogan's brows rose.

"Not to other prisoners, but to the guards."

"Good for him!"

Klink ignored the interruption. "He also makes a habit of trying to escape."

Finally, Hogan looked interested. And less than happy.

"He has been in and out of nearly a dozen different camps," Klink continued. "He always gets caught, but with each escape, he gets more troublesome."

Hogan was surprised to see the uneasy look in Klink's eyes.

"Colonel," Klink said softly, "he is being sent here as a last resort."

"What do you mean, 'last resort'?" Hogan asked suspiciously.

"Simply that the SS is tired of dealing with men like him. They have agreed, reluctantly, to let him come here because of the reputation of this camp." Klink noted the amused expression in Hogan's eyes and, for an instant, wished he could share the joke. "But," Klink's expression grew unusually somber, "if he escapes from here, or even attempts an escape, he will be sent to a concentration camp."

A look of surprise on Hogan's face.

Klink wondered bleakly if Hogan knew what being sent to a concentration camp really meant. Somehow, he didn't think so.

"Colonel," Klink added, "I would not wish that fate for anyone."

Hogan couldn't hide his surprise at the implied warning.

"So, please, Colonel Hogan. When he arrives, I suggest you have a talk with him. For his own sake."

Hogan nodded. "All right, Colonel. I will."

"Good."

"When will he get here?" Hogan asked.

"I don't know; sometime today."

"All right, Kommandant. Any more pleasant news?"

Klink shook his head. "No." God, he was tired.

Absently, Klink returned Hogan's usual sloppy salute. His eyes returning to his desk, he missed the slightly puzzled expression on Hogan's face as the American looked at him before leaving.

* * *

The day turned out to be as bad as Klink had expected. The forty prisoners, forty-three to be exact, arrived a little after noon. Their processing was a long, drawn-out disaster from start to finish. Most of the guards he now had were inexperienced, the war taking away most of the men who could be used for combat. Complete chaos ensued as the new prisoners arrived in two trucks.

Hogan looked as annoyed as Klink felt about the mess. And every chance he got, Hogan complained, loudly, about it. Nor were the other prisoners happy. The new arrivals made for even more cramped quarters for everyone.

Klink wondered if he could get a new barracks built. Considering the crowding at the camp, Hogan just might agree to the idea. The question was, where to get the money for the job? He didn't think Hogan would agree to do it for free. Maybe a trade of some sort. But with what? At this stage of the war, the camp had few luxuries to bargain with.

Klink removed the monocle from his eye and rubbed his tired eyes as he sat down at the desk.

The telephone on his desk rang.

"Kommandant Klink," he answered brusquely. "What? . . . Oh, yes. Send the truck in."

The troublesome new prisoner had arrived with the SS.

Klink sighed. The sight of the SS would not help ease the tension in the camp. He just hoped it wouldn't aggravate it even more. He stood and walked to the outer office.

The truck was coming into the compound, attracting curious glances from both prisoners and guards. Hogan, talking with some of the new arrivals, noticed the truck as it approached Klink's office. Klink, at the window, watched its approach.

The truck stopped. A trio of SS men, armed with machine guns, jumped out first. Then a captain. Then the prisoner.

Klink felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold winter day. The prisoner was shackled.

Klink could see Hogan's face as the American caught sight of the chains. Klink winced, anticipating Hogan's reaction as Hogan headed toward the office. Maybe he could defuse the situation.

Klink left his office, walking out onto the porch. The cold wind blew right through his uniform. He managed to control the shiver that shook him.

The captain walked up the stairs to meet him. "Heil Hitler!" A loud, correct greeting.

Klink's greeting was underwhelming. "Remove the chains," he ordered before the captain could say anything.

"Kommandant," the captain said, "this man is a dangerous prisoner; he needs to be kept in chains."

"Maybe in your custody, Hauptsturmführer," Klink said. "But he is in a Luftstalag now. We do not chain prisoners here. Remove the chains." His tone brooked no argument.

Hogan almost admired Klink's behavior at that moment. When Klink wanted to, he sounded as decisive as any officer.

Reluctantly, the captain seconded Klink's orders and the chains were removed.

"I have some papers for you to sign, Kommandant," the captain was saying as he pulled a packet from his pocket.

Klink took the packet and glanced through the papers. "They seem to be in order."

The captain handed Klink a pen with an ironic smile. Klink signed the papers without a word.

"I would suggest you keep him in solitary confinement, Kommandant," the captain said dryly.

"Ja," Klink matched his tone, "I expected you would. But, as I said before, Hauptsturmführer, this is a Luftstalag."

The captain grinned humorlessly. "So you said, Kommandant. Well," he turned to the prisoner, "after he escapes from here, or tries to, he will find the treatment at the next camp far more interesting." He glanced back at Klink. "Good day, Kommandant. I expect to see you soon. Heil Hitler!"

Klink raised his hand in the salute without saying a word. He glanced briefly at the prisoner who was looking around, his hand nervously rubbing his wrists.

"Schultz!" Klink called.

Portly Sergeant Hans Schultz appeared. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"Escort the prisoner to my office."

Klink turned his back to the prisoner and walked into his office. He missed the bitter look directed at him by the new prisoner.

Klink studied the file on the new prisoner.

Anthony Martinelli, sergeant U.S. Army, age 30, married with one child. A prisoner since late 1942, captured during the early American campaigns in North Africa. In and out of a succession of POW camps ever since. With each change in camp, his reputation for causing trouble increased. Justifiably so.

An inward sigh. The last thing he, and the camp, needed.

Klink went into the speech he gave every incoming prisoner. He knew how ludicrous the speech often sounded. But right now, he didn't care. He knew that Hogan would give his own speech. As long as the prisoners listened to that one, Klink didn't care what they thought of his.

Klink glanced up at Martinelli, his eyes meeting the prisoner's. And blinked in surprise. The malevolence in Martinelli's eyes startled him. But he recovered as Hogan came in. Klink barely listened to the exchange between the two men. Then he dismissed them. As they left, Klink hoped that Martinelli would behave himself. He also hoped that Hogan could keep him in line.


	2. Chapter 2

Act One

Scene Two

– Two –

Colonel Robert Hogan watched Sergeant Anthony Martinelli cross the compound. Martinelli had been here for three days now. He seemed to be a loner, forming no ties with any of the other men in the camp. Of course, he hadn't been here that long yet.

So far, Martinelli was staying out of trouble. Except for their initial contact, Hogan hadn't had a chance to talk with him. And all he did then was to warn Martinelli not to think of escaping. Unfortunately, the other forty-three new arrivals had kept Hogan occupied during the day. And a couple of nighttime extracurricular activities kept him busy at night. But now was a good time for a chat.

Martinelli was staring at the road running just outside of the camp. He heard Hogan's approach and turned.

Hogan smiled as Martinelli saluted. "You can drop the saluting, Sergeant. We're pretty informal around here."

"So I see."

"What do you think about our home away from home so far?"

Martinelli shrugged. "Seen one camp, you've seen them all."

Hogan grinned. "Oh, I don't know. We think our little camp is kind of special."

Martinelli failed to smile.

"So, are you settling in?" Hogan asked.

Another disinterested shrug. "Guess so."

"That's good," Hogan said heartily. "We don't pretend it's the Ritz or home. But it'll do for now."

"Yeah. If you say so, Colonel." Martinelli's voice was almost sullen.

Hogan glanced at him sharply. "Look, Sergeant," Hogan said quietly. "I know you've got a reputation for being a maverick. But as I said when you got here, what we're doing here is important. You do understand that, don't you?"

"Like I said, Colonel, if you say so."

Hogan felt frustrated. "Martinelli, Klink says this camp is your last chance," he said with some annoyance. "If you try anything funny, they're going to send you someplace a lot less pleasant."

"Oh, they will, will they?" Martinelli's voice sounded almost threatening as he watched Klink walk across the compound. "Tell me, Colonel, do you always listen to Klink?"

Hogan's pride was hurt. "Only when he makes sense. And that doesn't happen too often."

Klink was approaching them. Hogan's annoyance showed on his face; he had wanted to talk to Martinelli some more.

"Colonel Hogan." Klink saluted him and turned to Martinelli. "Sergeant."

Martinelli's salute was a lot more professional than Hogan's.

"Settling in, Sergeant?" Klink asked pleasantly.

"Yes, sir." Martinelli's voice was neutral.

"Good." Klink turned to Hogan. "I'd like to talk to you, Colonel Hogan."

"Yes, sir." Hogan wasn't too pleased at the interruption but he walked beside Klink along the perimeter wire.

"Colonel Hogan, the barracks are rather crowded right now."

"That's an understatement."

"There is space in the compound for another two buildings. Possibly more," Klink said.

Hogan glanced around at the camp. "Yeah, I guess so."

Klink looked at him. "I'd like to build those barracks, Colonel."

"You?" Hogan was blunt. "Or us?"

"We could make it a cooperative effort," Klink suggested pleasantly.

"And what do we get in return?"

Hogan was not going to make it easy, was he? Klink strove to keep his voice pleasant. "More space."

"And that's it?"

"Colonel," Klink's voice became neutral, "I have little left to bargain with. The supplies in your Red Cross packages are better than anything I can give you. Building the barracks will ease the crowded conditions. What else do you want?"

And so it began. The bargaining continued for about ten minutes. When it ended, neither man looked completely satisfied but both knew it was the best that they could do.

Klink walked back to his office. At least, the barracks would be built. A cold breeze ruffled his coat and he shivered as he walked up the stairs. Then he stopped. Something was . . .

He turned and looked around the compound. Everything looked normal — the guards in the watchtowers and patrolling the compound, the prisoners milling around. A football game had started in the large open area near the gate. Everything looked fine.

_Then what . . . ?_

Klink froze as his eyes accidentally met Martinelli's. He blinked in surprise. And looked again.

No, it was gone. Or had it ever existed? The pure hate he'd thought he'd seen in those eyes. Klink knew he was disliked heartily by most of the men, maybe even hated by some of the men, in camp. But he had never seen . . .

He shook his head. His imagination was running overtime. He was too tired to see straight. Maybe he should just forget about doing any more work this afternoon and get some sleep. Gruber should be able to handle things. Yes, that's what he would do.

But it was not to be. The phone rang incessantly. Suddenly, everything required his personal attention.

The day dragged on. Dinner was on a tray in his office, half of it left uneaten. Finally, near ten that night, he finished. And had Schultz bring the car around.

Hogan glanced curiously out the window as Klink and Schultz drove out of the camp. A faint smile. Klink was turning into a night owl lately. Oh well, it left them free from troublesome spot inspections. He grinned as he headed for the tunnels that lay beneath the camp.


	3. Chapter 3

Act One

Scene Two

– Three –

It was during the building of the first barracks that the first attempt was made. Supplies had been coming into camp regularly. The prisoners' work details also made forays into the woods for lumber. There was a constant milling around of men, guards and prisoners. Even Hogan had trouble keeping track of everyone.

Hogan and a group of twenty men were in the woods, cutting trees. Hogan was none too happy about having to get the wood this way, but Klink's attempt to get it from town met with little success. The townspeople were reluctant to extend any more credit to the camp, and neither Klink nor Hogan could blame them. Everyone, except the men in Berlin who ran things, could see the writing on the wall. Everyone seemed to know it was just a matter of time before the war would be over. Then what good would promises of payment from the military be?

There were only three guards watching the men. Schultz and two newer guards. Hogan nearly laughed at them. They were little more than children. He sobered up quickly. They were nervous children, armed with machine guns. And a lot more dangerous than the older men who were brought in to watch the prisoners.

Martinelli was on the work detail when he decided to slip away. Fortunately, it was Schultz who caught him. Otherwise, someone might have gotten hurt. Otherwise, Klink would have been told. Hogan managed to convince Schultz that no one need mention what had happened. Schultz, reluctantly, and with help from a bribe, agreed.

The second attempt wasn't as easily handled. There had been an accident in raising the frame of the first building. It wasn't a serious accident, but it attracted the attention of everyone, including the guards. And it left a blind spot in the wire. Before anyone could stop him, Martinelli was there, cutting his way through.

Klink spotted him.

_Klink_, Hogan thought with disgust as he followed Martinelli up the stairs. _Of all the dumb luck._

Hogan listened as Klink went into his song and dance about nobody ever escaping from the camp. And waited to protest the thirty days in the cooler that Klink would impose for the attempt. To his astonishment, Klink didn't order the thirty days. In fact, he didn't order any time in the cooler.

Hogan stared at Klink as Martinelli was led out. "All right, Kommandant." Hogan leaned on the desk. "What's going on? You've thrown men into the cooler for a lot less."

Klink looked at him with faint amusement. "You're objecting to my leniency?"

"Yes!"

"Sit down, Colonel," Klink requested pleasantly.

Hogan sat, suspicious; Klink was being too nice.

Klink saw the suspicion. Part of him was amused, part of him was resentful. Klink removed his monocle and rubbed his eyes.

Klink was tired, Hogan noted. Well, if Klink would stop playing around after dark, he wouldn't be.

Klink looked at him with an unusually sober expression. "Colonel Hogan, keep an eye on him. Please, for his own sake."

"Isn't that your job?"

"Hogan, please." Klink wasn't in the mood. "I warned you what would happen if he escapes. The Gestapo is keeping an eye on him. They are scrutinizing all of my reports. If I lock him in the cooler, I would have to include the incident in my report. Frankly," Klink's eyes met Hogan's, "I don't want to. As far as I'm concerned, this never happened. But, I warn you, I can't, and I won't, ignore any more attempts. So, talk to him. Make him see sense."

"I'll try."

"You'd better do more than try," Klink said sharply.

"Yes, sir!" Hogan, stung by Klink's order, stood.

Klink looked at him; the American's face was belligerent. An inward sigh. Their recent goodwill seemed to have disappeared. If anything, their relationship harkened back to the early days of their acquaintance. Maybe he could say something, do something. But what?

"Colonel Hogan," Klink's voice softened, "please. Believe it or not, I do not wish him harm. He can stay here, safely. But he must cooperate. I can't deny that this is a prison; none of us can. But please, try to make him understand. For his own sake."

Hogan looked at Klink. And unbent a little. Angry about the conditions in camp, he knew he was picking on Klink. Even he was forced to admit, Klink had no control over events. As for Martinelli, Klink seemed to want to help him.

"All right, Kommandant," Hogan said. "I'll do my best."

"That's all I ask, Colonel. Dismissed."

A salute and Hogan left.

_Do your best._ A sigh. _Will it be enough_?


	4. Chapter 4

Act One

Scene Two

– Four –

Colonel Wilhelm Klink walked into his living quarters after the prisoners' lights-out. He wasn't through working yet, but at least he could get more comfortable. He pulled off his tie, slipped off his uniform jacket, and laid them on the back of the sofa. After pouring himself a drink, he undid the suspenders, laying them on top of the jacket. Carrying the drink to the table, he undid half of the buttons on his shirt. Pity he couldn't work like this in the office but it was hardly regulation attire.

Klink sat down at the table and began leafing through the piles of paper. A grimace. Desperate battles going on in the war and it seemed that the General Staff had nothing better to do than demand more reports. Ah, the joys of being a soldier.

Joys. Joy had nothing to do with it. Especially lately. But it had taught him skills that were rather handy to have. A faint smile. Even if they were being used in ways many of his instructors would have disapproved of.

Enough delay. That pile of paper wasn't going to get any lower. He drained the last of his drink and started.

Colonel Robert Hogan glanced briefly toward Klink's quarters as he closed the shutters. The lights were still on. Looked like Klink had more work to do. He almost felt sorry for Klink. And grinned. He had always hated paperwork. One of the few advantages of being a prisoner was that he never had any to do. One of the disadvantages was that he always seemed to have enough work. Time to hit the old tunnel again.

In the bathroom, Klink dried his hands, and went back into the living area. The unfinished pile of paper on the table was still larger than the finished stack.

A sigh. Should he give up and go to bed? Or should he continue attacking that mound? For some reason, it never seemed to get any smaller.

The decision was made for him. Tired and feeling secure in his quarters, he didn't hear the faint step behind him. Something blunt crashed down on the back of his head, and he fell to the floor soundlessly.

Holding a gun over Klink's prone body, Martinelli grinned maliciously.

* * *

Kommandant Wilhelm Klink slowly raised his head and winced. The back of his skull ached ferociously. He tried lifting his hand to his head. And failed.

He snapped awake, fully alert now, despite the pain. He suddenly realized that he was standing, and that his wrists were bound and caught by a plant hook from the ceiling. He'd forgotten the hook was even there. He was just standing, he noticed, his arms beginning to ache from holding the weight of his body. He shifted position slightly, easing the strain on his arms. A look down. Martinelli sat across from him on the sofa arm, smiling.

Klink felt a chill as he saw the smile. He had seen looks like that before. His eyes met Martinelli's, and he had to suppress a shudder. Martinelli's eyes were aflame with hatred and something else. Klink was afraid to call it madness, but he knew that's what it was.

"I'm glad you're awake, Kommandant," Martinelli said in a mocking voice. "I was afraid I'd have to throw water on you. It's really too cold for that, isn't it?"

"What?" Klink cleared his throat and tried again. "What do you want?"

Hogan would have been surprised at the calmness in his voice. So would anyone else who claimed to know him. But Klink was too tired and, he knew, in too much danger to play games with Martinelli.

"What do I want?" Martinelli asked rhetorically. He stood. "That's an interesting question. What do I want?" He walked over to Klink and leaned over, his mouth inches away from Klink's ear. "What do you think I want, Kommandant?" His voice was biting, satirical. "I want out of here. And you're going to get me out."

"Don't be a fool, Martinelli," Klink started.

Martinelli's face contorted; his hand lashed out, catching Klink in the face.

Klink's head snapped back. Pain from the blow and the ache in his skull clouded his vision for a moment. Then, tasting blood on his lip, Klink looked at Martinelli, seemingly unafraid.

Martinelli stepped back in surprise. That was the last thing he'd expected from Klink. Then he grinned; Klink shuddered at the expression in Martinelli's eyes.

"All right, Kommandant," Martinelli said, picking up Klink's tie. Using it, he gagged Klink. Tightly. "If that's the way you want it, that's the way it will be."

Klink shivered, more afraid now than he had been in a very long time.

Martinelli slipped off his belt and began.

* * *

"Colonel Hogan!" Corporal Jenkins, one of the men from Barracks 12, called down the tunnel.

"In here!" Hogan answered.

The short, thin man hurried to him. "Sorry to bother you, Colonel," Jenkins said apologetically. "But have you seen Martinelli?"

"Isn't he in your barracks?"

Jenkins shook his head miserably. "No. And no one seems to know where he is."

"Oh, great," murmured Newkirk.

"I saw him at evening roll call," Carter said.

"So did I," said LeBeau. "He must be in one of the other barracks."

"Possible," Hogan said. "Have you checked?"

Jenkins shook his head. "I thought I'd check with you first."

Hogan was annoyed. "Well, get going. Use the tunnel. Baker, Carter, LeBeau, check the places the tunnel doesn't go."

A chorus of "yes, sirs" echoed in the tunnel.

"He's got to be here," Kinch said reasonably. "We'd have heard if he tried to get out."

"Maybe," Hogan said pessimistically.

"He doesn't know about the tunnels, does he, sir?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan shook his head. "No. I was going to tell him tomorrow. He's been behaving himself lately."

"So he's got to be in here," Kinch said.

"Yeah," Hogan agreed. "But where?"

* * *

Martinelli downed most of the drink he held. Then he stood and walked over to the man still hanging from the hook in the ceiling.

"Hey, you," he said derisively. "Ready to help me?"

The back of his shirt ripped, Klink lifted his aching head, his gaze meeting the mad eyes. His head shook.

Martinelli's face contorted and he threw the remains of the drink in Klink's face. Klink blinked the liquid out of his eyes. Then Martinelli's fist slammed into his unprotected midsection.

Klink groaned, his head dropping, unable to double up. After a moment, he faced Martinelli, still seemingly unafraid. Another vicious blow and Klink's head snapped back, the side of his lip beginning to bleed again.

"How does it feel to be a prisoner, Kommandant?" Martinelli spat. "To know that your whole existence depends on me?" He laughed. "Ready to help me, Klink?"

Klink shook his head.

"All right, Kommandant," the same derision in his voice. "Let's start again, shall we?"

Martinelli picked up the belt and walked over to Klink. The belt swung toward Klink's unprotected back again.

* * *

Hogan was worried. They had looked in every conceivable place in the camp and still no Martinelli.

"Maybe he got into the tunnels," Carter suggested hesitantly.

Hogan thought it unlikely. As far as he knew, no one had told Martinelli about the tunnels. But, just in case, he had his men search there. And outside the camp as well. It had snowed most of the day; if Martinelli went outside, there would be prints.

"Nothing," Newkirk said in disgust later. "The only prints out there were from a rabbit."

"There must be some place we missed," Hogan said. "Did you check the library? Assembly hall? Recreation hall? Supply hut?" He continued to catalog all the places in the camp.

"We even checked the guards' barracks," Baker said. "No sign of him."

"Well, check again!" Hogan ordered. "Every place, top to bottom! He's got to be here!"

"And if he's not?" Kinch asked quietly.

Hogan shrugged. "Then Stalag 13 has finally had an official escape. But I'll be damned if I know how it was done."

* * *

His blood-tinged shirt now in tatters, his wrists still bound, Kommandant Wilhelm Klink lay unmoving on the floor.

Martinelli stepped over Klink's prone body and went to get himself another drink. He was surprised at Klink's resistance, but not altogether unhappy. He was finally getting back at the bastards for the years they had him locked up. For all the beatings and solitary confinement and bad rations he had endured at their hands.

"Nothing personal, Klink." Martinelli gulped the brandy down. "You," he addressed the stirring man, "just happen to be the lucky stiff in the way." He swayed a little as he walked over to Klink. "Hey, you!" He poked at Klink with a boot. Klink winced as the poke became a kick. "You! I'm talking to you."

Klink's bloodshot eyes opened on Martinelli's grinning face.

"That's better, Kommandant." He knelt beside Klink. "Ready to help now, Kommandant?"

Klink didn't bother shaking his head. He had to conserve his strength as much as possible. The pain and fatigue were wearing him down. He had to hold on long enough for someone to notice that something was very wrong here.

Dawn. He had to hold on until dawn.

"My, my, my, aren't you the stubborn kraut?" Martinelli grinned. "You know something, Klink. I really don't mind. No, not one little bit." He reached for the belt again.

* * *

Hogan was frustrated. Martinelli was nowhere to be found; they had searched everywhere.

_No. Not everywhere._

Hogan straightened up. It wasn't possible. But still . . .

He went to the door of the barracks and opened it. It was still dark outside. But the guards had changed. Schultz should be around any minute. And there he was.

"Schultz!" Hogan called.

Surprised, the rotund sergeant hurried over. "Colonel Hogan, it is too early for you to be out of the barracks."

"I'm not out," Hogan said reasonably. "But I want you to come inside."

"Why?" the sergeant asked suspiciously.

"Just get in here!" Hogan ordered.

Schultz reacted to the tone of command in his voice and stepped inside. "What do you want, Colonel Hogan?"

"Schultz," Hogan got straight to the point, "Martinelli's missing."

"What do you mean missing?"

"I mean missing. As in not here, gone, bye-bye."

"You mean escaped?" The large sergeant was outraged.

"I didn't say that," Hogan appeased him. "I just mean we can't find him. And we've been searching all night."

Schultz didn't bother asking how they searched when the prisoners had been confined to the barracks.

"Except . . . "

"Except?" Schultz asked.

"Obviously, we couldn't search Klink's quarters," Hogan said nonchalantly.

Hogan was surprised at the alarm on Schultz's face. "You think he's there?"

Hogan shrugged.

There was fear in Schultz's eyes; he had seen the glint of madness in Martinelli's eyes as he looked at Klink.

"You, come with me!" he ordered Hogan.

A bit surprised at Schultz's manner, Hogan followed the German out of the barracks.

Schultz opened the door to Klink's quarters quietly. "Kommandant? Kommandant?" he called.

Hogan was surprised to find all the lights still on in Klink's quarters. It appeared that the Kommandant had worked all night long. 'Course, he could have fallen asleep as he worked. But where was — ?

Hogan and Schultz stepped into the living room and stopped in shock.

Wilhelm Klink, his shirt gone, lay face down on the floor, his wrists bound. Ugly, discolored bruises and reddish welts covered his back and arms. Pain and fatigue etched his unshaven face.

Hogan shivered. Never had he expected to see Klink like that.

"Kommandant!" Schultz cried and started toward him.

Klink's bloodshot eyes opened.

"Hold it!" A voice ordered loudly and Martinelli stepped into view, holding a gun on them. "Drop the rifle, fatso!"

Schultz nervously complied.

Hogan's eyes stayed on Klink's bruised body. "What have you done?" was his whispered question.

Martinelli glanced at Klink dismissively. "He doesn't want to help me get out of camp. I'm trying to convince him. But he doesn't convince easily. In fact," Martinelli took a step toward Klink, "he needs some more persuading."

Hogan's mouth was dry as Martinelli walked over to Klink. "Don't," Hogan heard himself saying in a voice filled with horror. "Don't hurt him."

Klink's pain-filled eyes lifted to his face.

"Why, Colonel," Martinelli mocked, "I didn't know you cared. I would have thought this would be your favorite fantasy. Having this," an ugly name, "in your hands, free to do anything you like with him."

Hogan shuddered. Martinelli was mad, totally mad.

Martinelli kicked Klink in the side; a groan from the beaten man on the floor.

"No!" Hogan whispered, suddenly very afraid. "Don't hurt him. Please!"

Martinelli's face twisted. "Then talk to him, Hogan. Convince him to help me get out of here. Before I get really angry." He picked up a knife lying on the table.

Hogan slowly walked over to Klink and knelt beside him. He didn't know what to do; he'd never seen anyone who had been beaten, who had been hurt, like this. Hesitantly, he touched Klink's bruised shoulders. Klink flinched away from his unwittingly painful touch.

Hogan persisted, pulling Klink off the floor, turning him over. Those unfamiliarly pained, bloodshot eyes were on Hogan's face.

Hogan held Klink by the shoulders, Klink's head resting on his arm. Hogan pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat off Klink's face. He dabbed at the blood still at the corner of Klink's cracked lips.

"Kommandant?" Hogan whispered, his eyes straying to the small sweat-matted hairs on Klink's chest.

And caught his breath. Thin lines of blood crisscrossed Klink's torso. Hogan shuddered. Apparently, they had interrupted Martinelli as he was starting with the knife.

"Kommandant?" he repeated.

Klink stayed silent, his pained eyes intent on Hogan's face.

"Kommandant, help him," Hogan said softly.

Klink cleared his parched throat. "I . . . " His voice broke. After a moment, he tried again. "The only way," he swallowed, "out of here is . . . with me. If he does that . . . both he and I . . . are dead."

"No!" Martinelli yelled with mad desperation. "You're my shield! They won't kill you!"

Klink's eyes met Hogan's. "Even if that were true, do you think he would let me live?"

Hogan glanced at Martinelli and saw the truth in his mad eyes. "If he takes me too," Hogan looked at Klink, "then he can't, he won't, kill you." Faint surprise in Klink's bloodshot eyes. "Or," Hogan said coldly, "do you want him to start on someone else?" He glanced at Schultz's ashen face.

Klink studied Hogan's set face. "All right, Colonel. I'll take the chance, if you do," he said faintly.

Martinelli grinned. "Well, Kommandant, you do have some sense after all." He turned to Schultz. "You, fatso. Get the Kommandant's car. Drive it to the front gate and leave it there. Then come back. And no funny business."

Schultz glanced at Klink who nodded tiredly. He left quickly.

Hogan, still holding the beaten Klink, helped him sit up. Taking care not to touch Klink's bruised back, Hogan helped him to his feet. Staggering, he led Klink to a chair at the table. As Klink sat, Hogan started to untie the rope around Klink's bruised wrists.

"No!" Martinelli stopped him. "He stays tied."

Hogan stopped what he was doing.

Klink leaned his elbows on the table, his head dropping down to his clenched hands.

Hogan started for the kitchen.

"Where do you think you're going?" Martinelli demanded.

"I'm getting him some water," Hogan answered tightly.

"I didn't know you were such a kraut lover," Martinelli ridiculed.

Hogan just stared at him.

"Go ahead. But no games or the Kommandant," Martinelli gestured with the knife, "pays."

Hogan nodded and went into the kitchen. He returned carrying a glass of water and a damp towel.

Klink took the water from Hogan with a grateful look. Then, taking the towel, he wiped the blood and sweat off his face. Dropping his aching head onto his hands again, Klink sat quietly at the table, harboring his all too fragile strength.

Hogan watched Klink with barely suppressed horror. For the first time in their long acquaintance, he felt admiration, real admiration, for Klink. He had never dreamed that Klink could withstand any kind of abuse, especially for so long. Admiration and . . .

Then he recoiled. No. He felt nothing for Klink. He couldn't.

The door opened; it was Schultz. "The car is at the gate," Schultz said in a trembling voice, his eyes on his kommandant.

"Good." Martinelli gestured with the gun. "You in front, Kommandant. Then me. Hogan, you stay real close but not too close. All of you remember, one false move and the Kommandant here is a dead man."

Klink rose tiredly to his feet, followed by Hogan.

Schultz, forgotten, went after them, picking up Klink's overcoat as he passed by.

* * *

It was nearly time for morning roll call so most of the prisoners were already in the compound. So were most of the guards.

"Look!" LeBeau cried. "It's Martinelli!" He hadn't seen the gun yet.

"Yeah," from Kinch. "But look at Klink!"

Slowly, both prisoners and guards turned to look with uneasy expressions at the small procession. Captain Fritz Gruber(1), Klink's second-in-command, hurried over to them and backed off at Klink's order.

It was Klink's appearance that shocked them the most. Despite the bitter cold and snow, Klink had no jacket, no shirt. Horrible bruises and welts marred his back and parts of his arms. His chest was streaked with sweat and, some nervous swallows, blood; his wrists were bound before him. His unshaven face was lined with fatigue and something else that most were afraid to name.

"My God," Baker said softly, "what happened to him?"

"Martinelli?" Carter couldn't believe it.

The walk from Klink's quarters to the gate seemed interminable. Guards and prisoners moved out of the way with stunned expressions.

Once, Martinelli, unhappy with Klink's slow pace, pushed the Kommandant forward. Klink tripped, falling to the snow covered ground. Exhausted, he lay in the snow, shivering. Some of the prisoners near him moved instinctively, wanting to help him. Martinelli waved them away with the gun, and prodded Klink with his foot. The prod became a kick; the men nearest them shuddered.

"I said up!" Martinelli ordered.

Moving with painful slowness, Klink pushed himself off the snowy ground. The watching men could see the effort it took for the Kommandant to raise himself to his knees. Impatient, Martinelli reached down and yanked him up by the arm. They saw Klink wince as Martinelli pulled on his sore muscles. Martinelli then thrust the Kommandant forward again. Klink, followed by the others, staggered toward the gate.

They reached the gate; Klink's staff car was just beyond it. The guards, the prisoners, no one knew how to react. Slowly, the gates swung open. Just a few feet more, and they would be out of the camp.

Martinelli grinned, sensing victory as they passed through the gates.

Klink glanced at Martinelli's face, seeing the madness. He knew Martinelli and Hogan were fooling themselves if they thought they could get away with this. Klink had no illusions about his importance, or lack thereof. The first group of SS men they'd encounter would attack the car. Even if they managed to avoid that trap, Klink had no illusions about Martinelli. Despite Hogan's presence, Martinelli would kill him. This was the only place to stop the inevitable.

"Sergeant," Klink said softly, urgently, "there's still time. Don't go through with this."

"And do what?!" Martinelli demanded. "Get sent to another hole?"

"No," Klink said forcefully. He had to convince the man, for Martinelli's sake as well as his own. "I can keep you here."

"Locked up." Martinelli was bitter.

"Alive!" Klink urged. "The war won't last forever. You have a family, Martinelli. You can go back to them. But not if you do this."

Martinelli snarled. He raised his gun, intending to hit Klink with it. To everyone's surprise, especially Hogan's, Klink grabbed Martinelli's wrist, forcing the gun up. Everyone watched, frozen, as the two men struggled with the gun.

_Klink should win_, Schultz told himself. _He should, he must._

His bound wrists made it difficult for Klink to hold on. He was also too tired and in too much pain. But even so, he could have wrested the weapon away, except for an accident. A log, hidden by the night's snow, tripped him. Klink was unable to keep his balance or his grip on the gun. He fell, landing on his bruised back.

Martinelli smiled. The gun aimed. Klink saw his death in Martinelli's eyes.

A burst of machine gun fire shattered the silence. Martinelli, astonishment on his face, was cut in half by the deadly fire and fell on the other side of the log.

Klink, who had covered his face when the barrage started, rose painfully to his knees, spattered with the American's blood. His stomach twisted at the sight of Martinelli's body. In the background, he could hear others gagging and retching.

Klink's eyes stayed on the American's face. For the first time, a kind of peace had settled on Martinelli's face. Infinite sadness was on Klink's.

Hogan knelt in the snow on the other side of Martinelli.

The first violent death in the camp's history.

Klink raised his eyes to Hogan's face. There was compassion and sympathy in Klink's eyes.

There was anger and hate in Hogan's. And all of it directed at Klink.

For an instant, there was stunned disbelief and hurt pleading in Klink's eyes. Then, slowly, the life drained out of the blue eyes. Now, the truth was out. Now he knew how Hogan really felt about him. Instead of drawing them together, this death pushed them further apart.

Klink dropped his eyes first. He was cold from a cold that had little to do with the freezing weather or the snow.

Footsteps approached and stopped beside Klink. Slowly, his eyes lifted to the smiling face of the SS captain.

"I told you we would meet again soon, Kommandant." A contemptuous glance at Martinelli. "So die all who oppose the Third Reich."

Klink ignored him, his eyes falling to Martinelli again. What a waste. A totally unnecessary waste. Martinelli's only crime was that he was on the wrong side. And, unfortunately, the prisons he had been locked up in had led to his madness.

"I am very sorry, Colonel Hogan," Klink said in a low voice, feeling he had to say something. He felt rather than heard Schultz walk up behind him as he looked at Hogan again.

"Bastard," Hogan said softly, his hate-filled eyes lifting to Klink's face.

Klink felt nothing as he heard Schultz's gasp at Hogan's curse. There was nothing inside of him left to feel any more. Klink dropped his gaze again. This time, his head drooped, his body slumped. It was too much. The pain, the cold, the fatigue, Hogan's hate. He couldn't take any more.

Alarmed, Schultz knelt awkwardly beside Klink, draping the overcoat over Klink's shoulders. His arms still around the bruised body, Schultz helped Klink to his feet.

It was over.

Klink broke away from Schultz's caring embrace. His eyes on the ground, his hands still bound, he walked slowly back into the camp. Only his will kept him going. He had to make it to his quarters.

Men, both prisoners and guards, saw the pain, saw the fatigue, and turned away uneasily.

Somehow, he dragged his body up the stairs, ignoring Schultz's helping hand. Into the room where he had been beaten by Martinelli. Gruber, his face white, waited there. Klink's eyes swept over Gruber and lifted to the table. The papers were still there, still waiting to be done.

Klink took a step into the middle of the room. Then his eyes closed. Schultz caught him before he hit the floor.

* * *

1 "Don't Forget to Write"


	5. Chapter 5

Act One

Scene Two

– Five –

The days that followed were grim. The weather turned bitterly cold and snowy. General Albert Burkhalter, Klink's superior, came to the camp shortly after hearing about the attempted escape and Martinelli's death.

"Herr General," greeted Hauptmann Fritz Gruber nervously as he saw Burkhalter's set face.

"Where is Klink?" Burkhalter demanded.

"In bed, Herr General," replied the clearly unhappy captain.

"Oh, he is, is he? We will see about that."

Burkhalter walked into the living quarters. Schultz was there, standing guard by the bedroom door.

"Out of the way, Sergeant," the general ordered.

Schultz didn't argue. He opened the door and turned on the light. He had no fear of waking Klink; the Kommandant was too exhausted.

"All right, Klink," Burkhalter began as he walked into the bedroom, "get up this . . . "

Burkhalter stopped. The blanket didn't cover Klink's bare back. His shocked eyes flitted over the bruises and welts covering the Kommandant's back; Klink's arms and wrists were also bruised. A glance at Klink's face; there was visible exhaustion on the unshaven face. After a moment, Burkhalter turned and left the room. Schultz turned off the lights and closed the door.

Burkhalter was uncharacteristically shaken. "I was not told. What happened?"

Stiffly, Gruber told his superior all that he knew.

Burkhalter sat down. "He was beaten for several hours?"

"Jawohl, Herr General," Gruber said nervously.

"And no one heard anything?"

"The guard on duty that night is a little deaf, Herr General," Schultz said apologetically. "And it was snowing heavily that night. No one knew anything was wrong until Colonel Hogan and I came in here and," he shuddered, "found the Kommandant on the floor."

"I see," Burkhalter said. And stood. "Have you taken statements from the witnesses?"

"Jawohl, Herr General," Gruber said. "They are in the office."

"I wish to see them."

"Jawohl, Herr General."

Burkhalter followed Gruber out.

* * *

Burkhalter closed the file soberly. "This Martinelli was mad," he said in an almost hushed voice, "to think that he could get away with it."

"Jawohl, Herr General," Gruber said.

"As for Kommandant Klink, I would not have expected such fortitude from him," Burkhalter said softly. "Nor such courage." A pause. Then almost reluctantly, "His behavior cannot be faulted. He took a calculated risk in trying to disarm Martinelli. Unfortunately, it failed. If it had not, Martinelli would still be alive. As it is . . . " A shrug. Burkhalter stood. "I am satisfied, Hauptmann," he said. "You are in charge until the Kommandant recovers."

"Jawohl, Herr General."

Burkhalter walked to the outer office. A glance at the door leading to Klink's living quarters. "Who would have believed it?" he murmured in a low voice and shook his head in amazement.

Burkhalter walked out into the snow. His cold eyes swept the compound. Work was still continuing on the new barracks.

Gruber noticed his glance. "The Kommandant is having two more buildings built, Herr General. To house the extra prisoners."

Burkhalter nodded. "An excellent idea. The Kommandant is showing unexpected talents, Gruber."

Gruber wasn't sure how to respond. "Jawohl, Herr General."

Burkhalter got into his car, still shaking his head in reluctant admiration. Perhaps there was still hope for Germany if a nincompoop like Klink could manage to behave in an intelligent fashion once in a while. A silent sigh. But he doubted it.

* * *

Klink stayed in his quarters for the next few days. After his collapse, he slept for nearly twenty-four hours.

Hogan stayed away for the three days Klink stayed in bed, refusing to see the Kommandant. Schultz had hoped the American would visit, had hoped Hogan would take back the curse he had flung at Klink.

But it was not to be. Martinelli's death had embittered Hogan in a way Schultz had not thought possible. When Hogan had pleaded with Martinelli, Schultz felt an odd elation despite his pain at seeing Klink like that. He had thought it meant that Hogan had learned to care about Klink after all. Instead, when Martinelli died, Schultz's hope died as well.

As for Hogan . . .

He seemed alienated from his men as well. Not on the surface. Not that anyone told him. But Schultz could see that the harsh opinion that Hogan had of Klink did not exist among most of the other prisoners. While regretting Martinelli's death, they didn't shut their eyes to what he had done. They remembered the bruises and the blood and the brutality that Martinelli had clearly enjoyed. As for Klink, they saw the courage and sorrow beneath the pain. And, for the first time, many of them found themselves thinking favorably of the camp Kommandant.

But not Hogan. And Schultz couldn't understand why.

* * *

Klink was back in his office for the first time since Martinelli's death. He was his usual, impeccably dressed self. The fatigue that had lined his face seemed to have faded. But nothing else had changed.

Klink frowned at the latest report. He was to expect another twenty prisoners. This would push their total count to over fifteen hundred men. Fifteen hundred.

Klink stood and went over to the window. It was snowing again. Despite the weather, there was a detail of prisoners in the woods, cutting down trees. He had given his permission, knowing that he couldn't supply the barracks with enough heat. Even his men were hurting. In the distance, he could see another group cutting trees, a group of guards.

Hogan was approaching the office. With a sigh, Klink went back to his desk. He hoped he could find out what was bothering the American.

But it was not to be. Klink had no idea how the discussion about purely routine matters deteriorated into an acrimonious argument. An argument without any of the hidden humor associated with most of their past fights.

Klink sought to keep his temper and failed. Hogan didn't even bother trying. Later, Klink couldn't remember what the argument was about.

Except for the end. He couldn't forget the end.

Somewhere along the way, Klink exploded and mentioned the real problem they had to face. "I did not kill Martinelli!" he shouted. "No one in this camp did!"

"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't interfered!" Hogan shouted back.

Klink sought to regain control. "Martinelli was a sick man, a very sick man. Did you really think he would keep his word? He would have killed both of us without a second thought, and anyone else who got in his way."

"Well, we'll never know, will we?" Hogan said bitterly. "Thanks to you!"

Hogan stormed out of the office into the snow. Klink, ignoring the weather, went after him.

"Hogan! We are not finished yet!"

There were startled looks from both guards and prisoners at the two men.

"Of course, Herr Kommandant!" Hogan turned back to Klink, his voice bitingly sarcastic.

"Tell me, Hogan," Klink demanded loudly. "What upsets you the most? The fact that Martinelli is dead? Or that I am still alive? Perhaps you would have preferred that he had killed me."

The words slipped out, "Perhaps I do."

Klink straightened, his face expressionless, as the men standing nearby looked aghast.

Hogan turned away. This time, Klink didn't stop him.

Hesitantly, Schultz came up behind Klink, a worried look on his face. "He didn't mean it, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said softly. "He is still upset. Death is too new to him. That is all."

"Nein," Klink said in a quiet voice. "I think this time he does."

"Please, Kommandant," Schultz's voice dropped even lower. "Please, tell him."

Klink's eyes followed Hogan across the snowy compound. Then he straightened even more. "Tell him what?"

Schultz sighed. "Nothing, Herr Kommandant. Nothing at all."


	6. Chapter 6

Act One

Scene Two

– Six –

The days passed. Thanksgiving had come and gone; Christmas would be here in a few short weeks.

But it didn't seem like the Christmas season. Not for the prisoners or the guards. For the prisoners, it meant another Christmas away from their families, another Christmas in a prison. For the guards, they were also away from home, and for the younger guards, it was their first Christmas away from those they loved.

As for the war, neither side had any real cause to celebrate. There seemed to be a stalemate on all fronts. Who knew when it would finally end.

_It wouldn't have been so bad_, Kinch thought, _if things were back to normal._

But they weren't. In the past, both Klink and Hogan seemed to enjoy their arguments. Both sides could see the humor in the odd situation. But not now. Relations between the two men were tense, an uneasy truce where both avoided aggravating the other. Their meetings were coldly formal, with no feeling behind them. Hogan's bitter words still stood between them. And no one had any idea how to resolve the situation.

* * *

Schultz came in for a head count before lights out. Hogan made an appearance and then disappeared into his room.

LeBeau handed the German sergeant a cup of coffee. "So how's things going, Schultzy?" LeBeau asked cheerfully.

Schultz waved his hand.

"That good, huh?"

Schultz nodded.

"It'll blow over," Carter said optimistically. "After all, they've gotten into some bad arguments before."

Schultz shook his head. "Colonel Hogan has never wished the Kommandant dead before."

"He didn't mean it, Schultz," Kinch said quietly.

Schultz looked at him. "Then why is he letting this go on?"

"The truth?"

Schultz nodded.

"I really don't know."

"Ah, it'll end," Carter repeated. "You'll see. Everything will get back to normal." But even he knew it never would.

* * *

_Hogan saw the disbelief, the hurt pleading in Klink's eyes. Then the life went out of the blue eyes and Klink's eyes fell from Hogan's hate-filled gaze._

_"Bastard," Hogan heard himself saying, his eyes lifting to Klink's face._

_Again, Klink broke the gaze. This time, his head drooped, his body slumped._

Hogan stirred, turning over on his side.

_Hogan watched as Klink's tied hands pushed on the log. With an effort, Klink stood, swaying as he did so. He stepped away from the log. But Klink's feet gave way, and he sank to his knees, shivering in the deep snow._

_Hogan stood, watching him._

_Klink tried once again to stand but couldn't._

_Hogan took a step toward him._

_Another effort by the Kommandant. Hands on his knees, he pushed up, trying to rise. Instead, he fell on his side into the snow. His pain-filled eyes lifted to Hogan._

_Hogan just watched him._

_Klink's bound hands clawed at the snow, trying to push himself up. Hogan saw the pain and the exhaustion on Klink's face. Klink's eyes were pleading, pleading for his help._

_Hogan turned away from the fallen man. A glance back at Klink._

_The hurt in Klink's eyes . . ._

_Hogan turned away deliberately. Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw Klink's head droop._

_There was still time. Time to go to Klink and take the beaten man in his arms._

_But he didn't. Another step away._

_Klink tried to move, tried to get up. And couldn't. Klink's eyes closed and he crumpled into the deep snow._

_Hogan kept on walking._

_No_, Hogan moaned softly. _That's not what happened. No. It didn't happen. It didn't . . ._

His eyes opened there was a tight knot in his throat.

_A dream. That's all. Just a dream. It didn't happen. It didn't._

But it could have. It would have if Schultz hadn't helped Klink. He would have left Klink. Turned his back on those pleading eyes and the pain. Ignored a man he had known for years. Ignored him. Left him lying in the snow. As if he didn't even exist.

So? Klink was nothing. Nothing, but a tool. A thing to be used, discarded. That's all Klink was. That's all he had ever been.

_Don't hurt . . ._

No. Klink was a tool. It didn't matter what happened to him. It didn't . . .

...

Hogan looked at the message from the underground again. A really important mission was in the works. But the Gestapo was getting suspicious. Something needed to be done to divert their attention from certain individuals. Something big.

And he knew exactly what it would be.

They stared at him in surprise when he told them his plan.

"Well?" Hogan demanded.

"Well," Carter began and stopped. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Well, sir," began Newkirk. "It's like this." He, too, stopped.

"It will definitely get the Gestapo interested," LeBeau said brightly.

"Yeah," Baker said. "It'll definitely do that."

"Right!" Hogan said, grinning. "They'll forget all about the others. At least long enough for them to get out."

"Yeah, Colonel. But . . . " from Kinch.

"But?" Hogan didn't sound too happy.

"But," Kinch spoke up anyway, "we've always protected Klink. Now you want the Gestapo to pick him up."

"Just overnight," Hogan said with seeming disinterest. "He'll get sprung the next day. Maybe."

Startled looks from his men.

"Just kidding. He'll be out of our hair that night and divert suspicion from the underground people."

"Yeah, I guess — " Carter began.

"Good," Hogan said firmly. "We're agreed. I'll get it arranged." Hurriedly, he left the area.

The others glanced at Hogan's departing back.

"I don't like it," Newkirk said quietly. "I know Klink's a bloody fool. But turning him into the Gestapo doesn't seem cricket. The way they are now . . . " His head shook.

"Well, why didn't you say anything?" LeBeau asked.

"Why didn't you?" Newkirk retorted.

"It wouldn't have mattered anyway," Kinch cut into the impending argument. "He wouldn't have listened to us." Kinch shook his head in frustration. "This whole thing has gotten way out of hand."

"And I think it's going to get a lot worse," Baker murmured.

The others nodded in agreement.

...

_Klink stripped, his wrists bound, bruises and welts covering his back and arms. Pain on his face . . ._

_Don't. _

_A kick in Klink's side . . ._

_Don't hurt . . ._

_Sweat on Klink's face, blood on his lip . . ._

_The knife in Martinelli's hand . . ._

_Pained eyes on Hogan's face . . ._

_Bitter cold, snow . . ._

_Klink in the snow . . ._

_Hurt, pleading eyes . . ._

_Bastard . . ._

_Prefer that he had killed me . . ._

_Machine gun fire . . . _

_Klink fell . . . _

_The blood . . ._

_Kommandant . . ._

_Hogan lifted him, Klink's blood staining his clothes._

_Kommandant . . ._

_Prefer he had killed me . . ._

_Kommandant . . ._

_Killed me . . ._

_Kommandant . . ._

_Pain-filled eyes on Hogan's face . . ._

_Killed . . ._

_The eyes closed . . ._

_They would never open again._

"NO!" Hogan screamed, awake with a start. "NO!"

The door opened. Kinch stood there, concern on his face, the others behind him. "Colonel?" Kinch was asking. "Are you alright?"

Hogan stayed in the shadows. "Yeah." His voice was husky. "I'm fine. Just a dumb dream. Go back to bed."

"Are you sure, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Pride stung his voice. "Of course, I'm sure. Get out of here. All of you."

"Sure, Colonel." Kinch still sounded concerned. "If that's what you want."

"It is." His voice was brusque.

"Good night, Colonel."

"Good night."

The door closed behind them.

Damn Klink. All these dumb dreams. Making him feel sorry for Klink. Making him feel . . .

No. He felt nothing. He couldn't feel anything.

_Don't hurt . . ._

No. Stop it. Klink means nothing to you. He is nothing.

Nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

Act One

Scene Two

– Seven –

It was a cold, sunny day when the SS car turned into the camp. They stopped at the main gate, but instead of allowing the guard to call Klink, they warned him not to. Too frightened to do anything but nod, the guard complied.

Hogan saw the car head for Klink's office. "Party's about to begin," he murmured almost gleefully. "Let's listen in."

Exchanging glum looks, his men followed Hogan into his room.

...

Klink was at his desk, working on more reports. Intent on his work, he barely noted the distraction in the outer office. The door opened without a knock. Surprised, he glanced up. A Gestapo lieutenant and three armed SS soldiers stood there, machine guns aimed at him. Behind them, Hilda had a half puzzled, half frightened expression on her face.

Seeing their expressions, Klink knew that his worst nightmare was about to become a reality.

But his voice hid his fear. "It is customary to knock, gentlemen," Klink said.

...

Listening in, Hogan was surprised at Klink's calmness. Of course, the SS hadn't said anything yet.

The young lieutenant almost looked embarrassed. "I am afraid, Herr Kommandant, that you will have to accompany us to Gestapo headquarters."

"May I ask why?" Klink was faintly surprised that the men in the office didn't hear his pounding heart.

"There are some questions that must be answered, Herr Kommandant. An accusation has been made against you." Still the polite tone.

Klink wondered when the politeness would disappear. "An accusation?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. You are accused of being a resistance leader."

Wilhelm Klink knew total fear for one of the few times in his life.

...

In his room, Hogan grinned, anticipating Klink's reaction. His men looked at him worriedly.

...

"I see."

...

Hogan stopped grinning as he heard Klink's calm voice.

...

Klink rose slowly, carefully from his chair. He didn't want to alarm the soldiers. He couldn't risk a shooting in the office; it would be suicide, and Hilda might get hurt. And outside, there was a chance that the prisoners or guards would be hurt or killed. He had to go with them.

"Well," his voice was still calm, "I am certain this is all a mistake. I have no objections to answering any questions."

In his room, Hogan was puzzled. Klink should have been protesting loudly, getting himself into deeper trouble. Instead, he was quite calmly agreeing to go with them. Why?

"May I talk to my aide, Hauptmann Gruber, before we leave?" Klink asked the young lieutenant.

"Of course. Only," menace crept into the politeness, "be very careful of what you say, Herr Kommandant."

So, the politeness was only skin deep. "Fraulein Hilda," Klink said, "please ask Hauptmann Gruber to come in."

Hilda, looking increasingly worried, left the office.

Within moments, Gruber, who had been waiting outside, came in.

"Hauptmann," Klink said with unaccustomed dignity, "these gentlemen have some questions for me. I should be back by tomorrow. Please take care of things until then."

Gruber saluted. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Klink slipped on his overcoat. The polite lieutenant helped him.

...

Hogan was waiting outside when Klink and the SS men appeared on the porch. He walked over to the office as Klink started down the stairs.

"Going somewhere, Kommandant?" Hogan asked innocently.

Klink glanced at him sharply; Hogan hadn't been this pleasant since Martinelli's death.

Their eyes met. Hogan had an almost gloating look on his face, seeming to relish Klink's predicament.

And Klink knew.

Anger showed in Klink's eyes, but his expression was devoid of feeling.

Schultz saw the anger in Klink's eyes, and saw who Klink was looking at. He also saw the barely concealed satisfaction on Hogan's face.

Schultz went white. Hogan was responsible for this. Hogan had turned Klink in to the Gestapo.

Klink's eyes stayed on Hogan.

Hogan stepped back, astonished at the expression in Klink's eyes. There was no fear, no panic, in the icy blue eyes. Only anger. And contempt.

Then Klink turned away, his eyes flitting over Hogan as if he didn't exist. Without a word, Klink got into the waiting car.

Amid an unusual silence, the car drove out of the camp. Slowly, prisoners and guards drifted away from the area. Even Hogan's men, looking disturbed, left.

Hogan stood alone.

...

"We should have stopped him," Carter was saying as they sat down at the table.

"How?" Newkirk asked tiredly. "None of us could have talked him out of it."

"How do you know?" The normally genial Carter was upset. "We didn't even try."

"Well, I didn't see — "

"All right!" Kinch interrupted. "It's too late for that. It's done!"

The door opened.

Hogan came in; even he didn't look happy. Klink hadn't reacted at all as he had expected. Hogan glanced at the glum faces of his men. Avoiding their eyes, he went to the stove and picked up the pot of coffee. He poured himself a cup.

The door opened.

Hogan glanced at the newcomer. He nearly dropped the cup he held. It was Schultz. A Schultz he had never seen before.

"You are a fool! A blind, arrogant fool!" A harsh, biting voice they had never heard before.

It made Hogan angry. "You're forgetting yourself, Sergeant!" Rank the refuge of a man who knows he did something wrong.

"And what did you do?" Schultz asked angrily. "He is an officer, the kommandant of this camp. And your superior! Even if you think he is worth nothing because he is a German! He is also a man who has tried to do his best for you and the other prisoners here. He has never, Colonel Hogan, _NEVER_, done you any real harm! And you repay him by turning him in to the Gestapo! I would expect such a thing from the Nazis, Colonel Hogan." Schultz's voice nearly broke. "I have never thought such a thing of you.

"Why?!" Schultz's voice was anguished. "Why did you do such a thing?"

Hogan turned away, unable to bear the look in Schultz's eyes.

Schultz brought up the forbidden subject. "Because Martinelli died?"

Hogan's back straightened.

"Martinelli was mad!" Schultz continued. "You saw what he did to the Kommandant. You know what else he would have done to the Kommandant. You even begged Martinelli not to hurt him."

Hogan moved restlessly, not wanting to remember. The others in the barracks wished they could disappear from the room.

"Martinelli would have killed anyone who got in his way. You, me, the guards, prisoners, innocent people. Anyone! Others would have shot him down in cold blood without a thought. _HE_ tried to save him, tried to get him to give up his mad scheme."

Hogan turned around angrily. "And got him killed!"

"Martinelli was already a dead man," Schultz said. "Only he didn't know it. He had no chance away from this camp. Here, he could have been protected. Even after being beaten by Martinelli, the Kommandant was still willing to protect him." Schultz looked at Hogan evenly. "I very much doubt that you would have been willing to protect a man who had beaten you, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan refused to meet his eyes.

"And so," Schultz's voice grew heavy, "in your arrogance, your spite, you hand him over to the Gestapo."

"He'll be out tomorrow, Schultz," Hogan said.

"He had better be, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan turned at the veiled threat in Schultz's voice.

"He had better be freed tomorrow. Or I begin to see everything, know everything, and remember everything. Tomorrow, Colonel Hogan. That is all the time you have."

The large sergeant, with a dignity none of them had ever seen before, left the room.

Hogan felt eyes on his back. "Go on, what do you have to say?" he asked in a sullen voice.

Kinch answered for them. "I think Schultz pretty much said it all, Colonel."

Hogan looked at his men. None of them would meet his eyes. Hogan angrily slammed the cup down on the table. "I need some air." He stalked out of the barracks.

Inside the barracks, his men glumly retreated to their bunks.

...

The night's mission was as successful as any of them could want. But its success was overshadowed by Hogan's seeming anger at his men. Even the underground group they were with could feel it, and they parted uneasily from the team of prisoners.

It was past midnight when they returned to the tunnels beneath the camp. Normally, after a successful operation, their adrenalin would still be going, and they would continue to talk to wind down. This night, everyone was quiet, glum.

Hogan, again, was left alone.

And he felt alone. More alone than he had ever been. There was a gulf between him and his men.

In a way, there always had been. There was true affection between them, he knew that. They relied on each other to a great extent. But, no matter how much they cared for each other, Hogan knew that his rank was a barrier. The men were far closer to each other than they were to him.

There were few other officers in the camp; this had always been a lower rank camp. And what officers there were, Hogan had no attachment to them. He had not cultivated any. He deliberately kept his group small. Of course, the camp, even with its inflated population, knew what was going on. It had to, to ensure that there would be no escapes. And most of the camp participated in the various escape functions of the camp. But the real missions, the dangerous ones, were mostly limited to his group.

But there were times when he felt a need to talk to someone other than his men. Times when he wished there was someone of his own rank who could share his concerns. Someone he could talk to.

Hogan poured himself a cup of coffee.

Odd. Once in a while, he had even sought out Klink. Just to have someone to talk to who had some idea of command.

_Command? Ha! _

Klink couldn't command a kindergarten. He was a pathetic excuse for an officer. He was inept, a coward, a . . .

That picture of Klink was back again — Klink hurt, bruised, bloodied, exhausted.

In the recesses of the tunnel, Hogan buried his face in his hands.

No. He didn't want to remember.

...

_Klink's eyes were pained, pleading. Then, slowly, the light in them died._

_Bastard . . ._

_Klink's head drooped his body slumped._

Hogan moaned in his sleep.

_Hogan watched as Klink stood, swaying as he did so. A step away from the log. And Klink's feet gave way under him and he sank to his knees, shivering._

_Hogan stood, watching him._

_Klink tried to stand and failed._

_Hogan took a step toward him._

_Another effort by the Kommandant, and he fell on his side into the snow. His eyes lifted to Hogan._

_The American just watched him. Hogan saw the pain, the exhaustion, on his face. Klink's eyes . . ._

_Schultz reached Klink and awkwardly knelt beside his Kommandant._

_Hogan turned away from the fallen man._

_Schultz was aghast. "Colonel Hogan."_

_A glance back at Klink._

_"Colonel Hogan," Schultz repeated. "Please," he pleaded. "Don't do this. Please, don't do this."_

_Hogan became aware of others standing near them, prisoners and guards._

_Another look at Klink, his gaze flitting over the bruises on Klink's trembling body._

_Deliberately, Hogan turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw Klink's head droop._

_There was still time. Time to go to Klink and tell him . . ._

_There was nothing to tell._

_Another step away._

_Klink's eyes lifted toward Hogan. "Don't . . . "_

_Hogan ignored him._

_Klink's eyes closed and he fell back into Schultz's embrace._

_Hogan kept on walking, his eyes away from the faces of the men he passed. Away from those surprised, accusing glances._

Slowly, Hogan's eyes opened. He willed his shaking body still. He refused to think of the dream, refused to think about anything at all. Think of nothing. Nothing at all.

_Don't hurt . . ._

No. Not this time. His hand clenched into a fist, his fingers digging into his palm. He welcomed the pain. He could concentrate on it instead. And forget that unfamiliar pain in his chest. The one that twisted his insides every time he thought of Klink in Gestapo headquarters.

_Stop it! He'll be out tomorrow. And things'll get back to normal again. Normal. Yeah, everything will be normal again._

But even he couldn't believe it.


	8. Chapter 8

Act One

Scene Two

– Eight –

Wilhelm Klink, kommandant of Stalag Luft 13, sat on the hard cot, his unseeing eyes on the door. It was late now. About two in the morning he guessed. They had taken his watch along with his other effects before they put him in the cell. And they had been so polite about it.

So far.

He shivered; it was cold in this unheated cell. He glanced around. The cot had no blanket; there was a bucket for a toilet in the corner, and a jug of tepid water beside the cot. No food; he had not been fed since they brought him in yesterday morning.

He couldn't sleep, though he knew should try to rest while they let him. If they started to interrogate him, rest would be one of the things denied him.

Interrogate. A shiver, but not from the cold. So far, they had been content to merely ask questions. Questions that he had answered to the best of his ability. He didn't even need to lie; he really had no idea what was going on. He had never heard of the man who supposedly gave the information to the Gestapo.

But when would they stop asking and start demanding? And when would Major Hochstetter, the Gestapo's headman in town, come back? Hochstetter, he knew, would not be content to let him sit in this cell, would not be content to merely ask him questions. Every time he saw the man, he knew that Hochstetter itched to be able to get his hands on Klink. And thanks to Hogan, the major might finally get his chance.

Hogan. That icy anger was back. Hogan had done this to him. Deliberately betrayed him to the Gestapo. Part of him couldn't believe it. He wanted to deny it. Not Hogan. Not after everything they'd been through together. Even if Hogan didn't like him, Klink was entitled to some consideration as a human being.

Human being. That ache inside of him was back again. That ache ever since Hogan had wished him dead.

He might as well face it. Hogan didn't think he was human. All Hogan saw was the uniform. Nothing more. Over the past three years, Hogan had lied to him, treated him with contempt, with ridicule. Treated him like an object with no feelings. Hogan had never once helped him unless there was something in it for Hogan. Once in a while, Klink had thought he had, but later Klink would discover the real reason for Hogan's help. And with each seeming victory over Klink, Hogan got more outrageous, more contemptuous.

But never like this. That near gloating on Hogan's face was new, frightening. Klink had lost all semblance of humanity in Hogan's eyes now.

God, he hurt! The pain that slashed through him was almost physical. He'd thought he'd become immune to the emotional roller coaster that Hogan kept him on. But he hadn't.

And he really didn't expect this from Hogan. He never expected Hogan to deliberately hand someone over to the Gestapo. Not now. Not when the Gestapo was looking for any excuse to arrest people.

The cell door next to his clanged; he heard a terrified, "NO!!"

Klink shuddered as the door slammed shut. He knew what they were doing in there. Knew and was terrified of it.

When would they start on him? How long before the door opened, and it would no longer be the polite questions? So far, they hadn't touched him, his rank protecting him a little. But not for long. If they really thought he was a resistance leader, his rank would be meaningless. And the interrogation would begin.

Interrogation . . . Torture. The torture would begin. A shudder.

Even now, Klink couldn't believe that Hogan would have done this if he'd thought Klink would be tortured. It was at odds with everything Klink knew about the man. But Hogan, in his anger, his hate, was capable of not thinking things through. Hogan had always been impulsive. That was partly why he was successful. But it also made life dangerous for those around him. Sometimes more dangerous than it needed to be. And now, Klink may pay the penalty.

Cold anger covered the hurt again. If he got out of here alive, Hogan was going to discover just how badly he'd misjudged Klink.

_Torture was not part of the bargain, Hogan. This, I do not forget. This, I do not ignore. And this may finally mark the end of Colonel Robert Hogan's reign at Stalag 13._

A muffled scream cut the silence. And another.

_Oh God. God, I'm so afraid. So very afraid._

His head dropped to his hands as he began to pray.

Klink's car pulled into the camp, stopping in front of the office. Schultz got out of the car and opened the Kommandant's door. Klink got out of the car, his eyes sweeping the compound. The cold eyes found Hogan as he lounged against the barracks' wall. An order to Schultz who didn't look too happy, and Klink turned away.

Schultz puffed his way over to Hogan. "The Kommandant orders you to his office."

No request, no please. Blunt and cold, very unlike the Schultz he had known for years. Schultz still hadn't forgiven him. For a moment, Hogan wondered bleakly if Schultz ever would.

Hogan straightened and followed Schultz to the office.

Exchanging glances, Hogan's men quickly went to his office. Hurriedly, they set up the coffeepot.

For the first time since he'd arrived in camp, Hogan was nervous as he entered Klink's office.

Klink stood at the heater, warming his hands over it. Without turning around, Klink, in German, ordered Schultz and Hilda outside.

Hogan glanced at Klink in surprise; he'd never heard Klink speak in that tone of voice before.

Klink turned to look at him.

Hogan took a surprised step backwards. The look in Klink's eyes, the controlled fury on his face, he almost looked like a different man.

"I knew you hated me, Hogan. But I didn't realize how much." Klink's voice was abnormally hard.

"I . . . " Hogan had to swallow his unexpected nervousness. "I don't hate you, Kommandant."

"You don't? How nice!"

Hogan flinched.

"I would like to see how you treat people that you do hate. Perhaps you just stab them in the back."

"Wait a minute — !"

"No!" Klink said harshly. "Not this time!"

Hogan shut up.

"You deliberately, I believe 'planted' is the word, that information about me. And then conveniently let the Gestapo know about it."

"How could I possibly — ?" Hogan started.

"No lies, Hogan! Not this time! I don't care how you did it. Or why. But the fact of the matter is that you deliberately handed me over to the Gestapo."

"You got out!" Hogan retorted angrily.

"And that is supposed to excuse you?" Klink demanded. "You know how paranoid the Gestapo has become. They are looking for any excuse to arrest people. You were very lucky, Hogan, that Hochstetter wasn't in charge. Do you think he would have believed any of that ridiculous story that freed me? What do you think would have happened if he had made the arrest?"

"I, uh . . . " Hogan fell silent. He hadn't considered Hochstetter when he came up with his plan. Or had he not wanted to? He knew how much the two men hated each other.

"I was not particularly comfortable in that cell, Hogan," Klink continued in that strange, hard voice. "But it was more comfortable than the other cells there. Perhaps you know the ones I mean. They have interesting devices in them for getting reluctant prisoners to talk. If Hochstetter had been there, which cell do you think I would have been taken to, Hogan?"

Hogan looked uncharacteristically shaken; he hadn't thought of that. He'd assumed that Klink would just be questioned for a few hours.

"And if that rather gullible officer hadn't believed that my accuser just made a mistake, what do you think would have happened next?"

Hogan stayed silent.

"Or didn't you think of that either?!" Klink's voice whiplashed.

Hogan found he couldn't meet Klink's eyes.

"I have put up with quite a bit of abuse from you, Hogan. Lies, insults, open contempt and worse, not only from you but your men as well. A dog would have gotten more respect. But if putting up with the abuse was the way to keep my record intact, I was willing to pay the price."

Hogan's head lifted slowly to look at Klink. This was a Klink he didn't know.

"But the price does not include torture by the Gestapo!"

Hogan flinched and stirred uncomfortably under Klink's gaze.

"I suggest you be very careful in what you say and do from now on, Hogan. Very careful!" There was unexpected steel in Klink's voice. "Or I may decide that you are far more trouble than you are worth."

The threat was unmistakable.

"Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Hogan's voice was unusually quiet.

Klink turned back to the heater.

"Kommandant," Hogan said.

Klink didn't turn around.

"I . . . I really don't hate you." Of course not. How do you hate a thing?

Klink half turned, seeming to read his thoughts. "Perhaps what you feel is even worse," Klink said softly. Then his voice hardened. "To be perfectly frank, Hogan, I don't give a damn what you think of me. Now get out of here; I find that I cannot stand the sight of you."

Hogan stared at Klink's back for a moment; Klink ignored him. Slowly, Hogan opened the door and left.

The listening men shut down the coffeepot. They were an unusually somber group.

"Klink sure lit into the Colonel, didn't he?" Carter said, clearly unhappy with what had happened.

"What did you expect him to do?" Kinch asked. "He knew the Colonel was responsible for his arrest."

"Yeah, but how?"

"It doesn't matter how," Baker said. "You heard Klink. He doesn't care how. Or even why."

"I don't even know why the Colonel did it," Carter said.

"Come on, Andrew," Newkirk said. "The Colonel was using Klink as a diversion. That's all."

"You don't believe that any more than I do," Kinch said.

"We've got to believe it," LeBeau said.

"Why?" demanded Baker. "Because the Colonel said so?"

"Because I don't want to think about the alternative," LeBeau said soberly.

They heard the outer door open. Kinch put away the coffeepot as Hogan walked in.

Hogan was surprised to find them there but said nothing as he walked over.

"Klink sure was mad, wasn't he?" Newkirk said cheerfully.

"Yeah." Hogan's voice was toneless. Then he shrugged. "Too bad. LeBeau, got anything good for lunch?"

LeBeau looked puzzled. "Oui, mon Colonel. It'll be ready in half an hour."

Hogan forced some life in to his voice. "Good."

"I'd better see how it's doing," LeBeau said uncomfortably.

They were all uncomfortable. Using a variety of excuses, the men left the room. And Hogan was alone again. Alone with his thoughts.

He sat on his bunk, remembering the argument with Klink, replaying it over and over again in his mind.

Why had he set Klink up? Why?

He was afraid of the answer.

Restless, he stood and walked over to the window.

Klink. That picture was back again. The pain, the bruises, the fatigue.

Hogan shook his head to clear it. No. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to remember. He especially didn't want to remember what he had said.

_Don't hurt him . . . _

_Don't . . ._

The words echoed in his mind.

_Stop!_

He couldn't think of Klink that way. He couldn't think of Klink as anything other than a tool. A way to get what Hogan wanted. He had always used Klink. Ever since he first arrived in the camp. Klink was just an object, to be used or discarded as the need arose. A thing to be insulted or lied to, to be ridiculed or treated with contempt by everyone, including his men. Nothing more. In all these years, Hogan had never really considered Klink a superior officer, a person, a man. He acknowledged Klink's humanity only when it fit in with some scheme of Hogan's.

But when Klink's nephew died, part of the image cracked. And Hogan was forced to confront Klink as a human being. To admit that Klink had needs and emotions that had nothing to do with Hogan. And that day, Klink became a man who could be hurt, hurt badly.

No! Klink was nothing but a tool. And Hogan proved it by setting him up with the Gestapo. That's all. Just a tool. One day, Klink would discover just how expendable he was. When Hogan was through with him, Klink would be gone. And if he was dumb enough to get in the way of Hogan's plans, he might even wind up dead. After all, that's what you did with tools when they stopped being useful. You threw them away. Yeah, one day, Klink would be thrown away.

A grim smile as he left his room. Yeah, Klink would be thrown away.


End file.
